What Is It About Men Like Him?
by Frigg
Summary: Inspired by watching the movie, and other ff - I try my hand on something else. Kirill is the man - and he finds his match in an English shrew ...


**WHAT IS IT WITH MEN LIKE HIM?**

Even spies have evenings off. Although – to be perfectly honest, it is never really an evening off; you are never without a sense of alertness, even if you try.

Military trained and an employee of MI5, although officially at the trade department of Her Majesty's Embassy in Berlin, I had decided to have a rare night of clubbing along with a couple of colleagues, also female, from the embassy staff. I have to add that they knew absolutely nothing of my other activities; they just thought me an ordinary office clerk – just like them. And to keep up appearances, I some times had to "be one of the girls."

It is not difficult to find somewhere to go in Berlin, if your preference lies within smokefilled clubs with plenty of action and an earsplitting noise level, so we easily found one. One of the other girls had a German boyfriend, who knew a good one, or so he claimed. It turned out to be a fairly obtrusive one – the Blue Hell.

It lived up to its name – flashing blue lights everywhere, and it was an absolute noise hell. In spite of that we had rather a good time, drinking and dancing. We certainly had no lack of dance partners - _why are foreign girls always so interesting to the native male population_ – well, I was not complaining; as I said we had a fairly good time – that is until something, or should I say somebody, caught my eye.

Although I was part of the English intelligence service, and the Jason Bourne case was entirely an American matter – we had, of course, heard about it. The world of intelligence is rather small. It helped a lot that the Americans did not exactly treat this case with the utmost discretion and we had also known about the Russian assassin, who had been hired to kill Bourne. Nobody really knew by whom; officially it had been by a Russian oil billionaire, but later unoffical, and non-confirmed, rumours in the business had said that a former director of the CIA in liaison with the said oil billionaire had been the real contractor. The hitman was a former member of the Russian special forces, who was now a free-lance killer for the highest bidder; the only name we knew was – Kirill.

We had opened a file on him in connection with another case, where the MO suggested that he had done the job and had also obtained a photo of him – not very discreet and extremely arrogant he seemed, this chap. Through some of our sources, we had learned that a few months ago he had died in a car crash in Moscow under quite mysterious circumstances, and the case file was archived.

Well, apparently it might have been too early to put away that file; our sources may have been mistaken or unreliable – or else he had a twin brother, because here he was – sitting quite relaxed a couple of tables from us in the company of a couple of suspiciously looking men and a couple of – oh, well I will be nice and say – ladies.

Even on a night out, the curiousity of a spy does not take a break, so I moved a little closer to the company to see what I could pick up from their conversation – although it would probably not be much, considering the general noise level.

I moved up to the bar, which was closer to the table – I would have thought that people like that would prefer secluded corners, but then again, this was perhaps less suspicious than secluded corners. And taking the arrogance for which Kirill was known – and which in real life also seemed to ooze from him into consideration, this was perhaps not odd, at all.

I ordered a drink and placed myself so that I could watch the party. I got a couple of offers from men at the bar, but declined gracefully saying that I was waiting for somebody.

I do not consider myself the most intriguing or sexy woman in the world – although some men have found me rather attractive. Actually, I am nothing out of the ordinary – a good thing to be when in that particular profession.

I am fairly short – 5' 6", and as I am not into wearing very high heels I tend to stay that way. I fill out my clothes fairly well, without being chubby; _I'd prefer quite curv, thank you_ and I am well-trained (have to be). My auburn hair was (and is) cut rather short and yes, I do know that most men like long hair, either spread out over a pillow or their hands buried in it, but I do not – and it's my hair. My eyes are very blue and in summer I have a light sprinkle of freckles across a fairly indistinctive nose.

I must have been unattentive, or dreaming, for a while, because suddenly I looked up, and my eyes met a pair of very dark eyes – could not tell the colour in this light – looking across the room at me. _Bugger_, I thought, but could not imagine what I might have done to catch his attention.

His gaze moved. _Phew – probably just a coincidence that he was looking right at me._ Not that I minded. As his attention once again was directed at the company at his table, I took the opportunity to study him. I liked what I saw. Dark, very shortly cropped hair, dark five o'clock shadow on a firm chin and very dark eyes – as I said before. From the description in the file we had on him, I knew that they were hazel. Six-two, fairly tall, then – and very well-built, muscular even. Powerful hands with long fingers held a glass containing a brown liquid – presumably whisky - _although I would have imagined that a Russian would have preferred vodka?_

Careful not to catch his attention, I turned towards the bar, occupying myself with my drink. One of my friends joined me. "Why are you sitting here?" she inquired. "Oh, for no particular reason, other than trying to be picked up – and enjoying my drink," I replied – and could not keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "I'll join you in a moment." She shrugged as if saying "suit yourself" and returned to the table, probably thinking me the odd number. _Oh, well perhaps I was._

Content that nothing would happen and that I would not find out what Kirill and his company were up to anyway, I was actually contemplating that returning to the table could be my next move when I sensed that somebody sat down on the stool next to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that it was a man in a black suit. I looked up and turned my head. _Oh, bloody hell – it was him! Think fast, Anne_ – sadly my brain had totally stopped working at that point, leaving me totally paralyzed. My breathing seemed to have stopped, too. _Breathe, Anne, breathe ..._

He looked at me, smiling cheekily. _Oh, yes, his eyes were definitely hazel_ _– and with green flecks dancing in them._ "I saw you from the table, my company has left and I thought that you looked a bit bored, is that true?" His voice was dark, too. Soft as a whisper – and he spoke English with a quite distinct accent – Russian by the sound of it. I stammered "How did you know – that I was English?"

"I don't suppose that you would have answered your friend in English otherwise – and besides I do know an accent when I hear one!" He looked a bit overbearingly at me and then he asked "Would you like to dance?"

That was entirely not what I had imagined that he would say to me, and probably it was not the smartest thing to do, but I said the only thing that I would think of. "Yes, why not." – _not terribly original, Ms A._ _– now what? _ He rose, helped me down from the stool – _yes, he was tall and muscular_ – and took my hand, leading me onto the dance floor. His hand was warm and he held my hand as if it was the most natural thing in this world.

The dance floor was crammed, and I suddenly realized that the only way that we would ever be able to dance was to be molded against each other. _That certainly had its advantages, and right now they were quite clear to me. _That did not seem to affect him in the least, he just put his arms around me, his large hands resting on the small of my back, drawing me tightly against him. _Very sure of yourself and your charm, aren't you?_ I thought. His scent was overwhelming; clean and masculine and a bit sweaty perhaps from the heat in the room – _hell, sweat was trickling down my back as well, _ and he obviously was a fan of Giorgio – Armani, that is. Mania – for men, was it?

We swayed to the music; he had the movements of a large cat – a lion or a panther? and I hated myself for the way my body responded to the nearness of him – but I could feel that his definitely also responded to mine. _Honestly, Anne, he is a trained killer and probably stops at nothing!_ I felt his lips against my hair and suddenly he bent down and whispered in my ear. "Uhmm, you smell good – and you feel good; would you like to go somewhere else when this dance is over?"

I jerked a bit at this and he must have felt it. He chuckled softly "Just to get a quiet drink and talk – for the time being. You interest me." I nodded – _Remember the thing about being professional, Anne – tell me that you are only doing this for professional reasons!_ – and said "Yes, I would love that," in a squeaky little voice.

I am a trained spy with a background in the British Army – and I can protect myself, if I must – although I was not quite sure that I would be able to do anything against this predator of a man. I also realised that he would be quite a catch for the united European intelligence services – but if everybody thought that he was dead, why should I bother. Besides, I had a feeling that he could bring something into my life that had not been there before – _for instance a sexual experience beyond anything I had known before_? _Breathe, Anne, breathe._

He bent down and let his lips glide softly over mine. My heart did flips – and I sighed audibly. Then he took my hand and led me from the dance floor. "I'll just let my friends know that I am leaving; wait for me here." I said. He nodded and let go of me. _No way am I going to give them cause to send out a search party for me, if I just leave._

I told the others that I was going home; I had a busy day tomorrow. _What a lame excuse; now they will know that you got lucky tonight. But sod that – they know nothing of Kirill._ I went up to him and he took my hand again. "Ready?" he asked. I nodded and we left the club.

It was a spring night in Berlin; spring in Berlin is usually warm and this year was no exception. We went down the street and found a café that was still open. Kirill stopped and looked at me . "Do you want something to drink?" "No, not really." I replied. "Couldn't we just go for a walk?"

He smiled and took my hand, leading me down towards the Spree. We stopped at the rail and he pulled me into his arms. "Who are you, lady? Somehow you intrigue me, and you are not even the most beautiful – or sexy woman I have ever met. But there is something about you, which I find very, very attractive – and I think that I feel a certain response from you?" _An arrogant bastard, aren't you._ But somehow that was attractive, too.

I could not help smiling. _But you are easily the most sexy man, I have ever met .. _"My name is Anne Walsingham, and I, eh, work at the British embassy." _Yeah, right, Anne – go ahead just tell him everything ..... really pro! _I struggled to keep my voice even.

"At the British embassy – are you a spy?" he said, jokingly. I managed to laugh.

"Yes, of course, what else do you do when you work at an embassy?" Did he react? Would he see the truth behind the joke? Bloody likely he would, if he was as clever as his file said – for the time being I just felt him chuckle, as he held me.

I looked up at him and asked probingly "What about you? What do you do? From your accent I'd said that you are Russian, perhaps Polish – but definitely not German."

"You're right. I am Russian – and I am sort of freelance now. My name is – Kirill - and I think that I will leave it there for tonight." Before I could protest that, his right hand was caressing my cheek and the other rested firmly on the small of my back, drawing me in.

He lifted up my chin and looked me straight in the eyes – _and of course he had the kind of eyes that made me melt on the spot _ – and then he kissed me like I have _never_ been kissed before. I could not have refused him even if I wanted to. My head spun and my knees went wobbly – and the kiss definitely did not last long enough. Still, I was out of breath when he let me go – _and I forgot all about inquiring about his last name_.

"I knew that it would feel good kissing you". Even he was little out of breath – and he laughed softly. "Where do we go from here?"

"My flat" I managed to say before he kissed me again. "Mmm – good, but are you sure – you've only just met me!" "Very sure" I said – _Are you really; said my brain - he's right, you know - and what of it said my body_ – "Find a taxi" said my mouth as my hands slid up his arms to rest on his shoulders – and then _I_ kissed _him_.

He let go of me with a small groan. "Not necessary, my car is parked not far from here – and I did not drink that much tonight." True, he did not taste of alcohol – _must have been apple juice in his glass then; well – it is not because he is drunk that he is coming on to me. Very reassuring!_

We went back towards the club and he led me to a black Audi. _What else._ It suited him and fit his black Armani suit. He opened the door and helped me in – _a perfect gentleman_? He sat in behind the wheel and kissed me, letting his hand glide up my thigh – _oh, well, not really then._ "Where to?" I gave the directions; I had a small flat a couple of miles from the centre of Berlin in a building owned by the embassy.

As we drove along, his right hand rested on my thigh – _automatic drive has its advantages –_ his hand burned through the fabric of my jeans. _Good heavens, what if I had worn a skirt?_

He parked the car in my parking space – my Golf GTI was still parked at the embassy; we had gone directly from work to the club. I opened the door and we went to the lift.

Already in the lift, his hands seemed to be all over me – and it was all that I could press the button to the sixth floor. Molded together and kissing like maniacs, we managed to reach my frontdoor and opening it. Once inside, he kicked the door closed and slammed me against the wall, still with his mouth ravishing mine.

He lifted me so that my legs encircled his waist; I felt his very impressive arousal through his trousers. I whimpered and he kissed me ferociously. I kicked off my shoes somewhere along the way just as my bag had hit the floor right inside the door.

I wriggled loose long enough to gasp "To the right." – indicating where the bedroom was. Kirill kicked off his shoes as he carried me into the bedroom and before I knew it I was on my back on the bed, with Kirill looking down at me, his eyes dark and glazed. "You are beautiful" he breathed. _Smooth bastard! _ went through my dazed brain.

I rose to kneel on the bed facing him. My hands went up to remove his jacket; underneath it he wore a white, _very_ tight-fitting T-shirt. He was indeed very muscular, but not heavy. I pulled at the T-shirt and he lifted his arms, helping me as I pulled it off him.

He grinned wolfishly, as my hands slid over his chest, caressing it, kneading his nipples. _Chest hair, but no ape_. I let my nails run through it as I looked up at him through my lashes and he stopped my movements. "Go slow now, little one; you don't know what that could lead to - my turn I think."

His hands slid down my arms and front; he started unbuttoning my blue silk shirt – he did it encruciatingly slow, letting his fingers caress my skin as he undid the buttons. Finally, he removed the shirt entirely, letting it drop to the floor.

Then he undid my belt and my jeans, letting them slide down my hips. I felt very conscious as I felt his hands on my legs – and his eyes on the rest of me. I tend to feel super-conscious in situations like this because I have always had sort of a complex about my body.

This time, however, I did not get the feeling. Perhaps because of the look in Kirill's eyes, as he let his gaze glide over me, one of his dark brows slightly raised – _in surprise_? He looked as if he liked the view, but .... Let me explain, I am _not_ one for so-called 'sexy' lingerie – push-up bras, laces and thongs. I prefer the more sporty look; sport-bras and high-cut panties.

The green flecks in Kirill's eyes danced. "Somehow I knew that you would be my kind of girl – nothing turns me on like a girl in a sport-bra – and a white cotton one at that!" He pulled me to him and kissed me, his hands caressing my breasts.

I chuckled "You're about the first bloke, I've been with, who is into white cotton things." I moaned as I felt his hands on me. He laughed softly and mumbled: "Oh, but then I'm not an ordinary bloke." _Tell me about it._ I felt his hands glide inside my bra, pulling it off me and letting it join the clothes on the floor.

I grabbed the band of his trousers and pulled him to me. I opened his belt, the button and the zipper, letting the trousers glide down his slim hips, and then I stopped. He grinned. "Go on" he said. I could feel his erection against me, a very impressive bulge indeed in his black tights. _Oh, goodie. _"Oh, and you're my kind of man" I murmured. He laughed.

I felt his hands move inside my panties. "I love that you are wearing panties, everybody else wear thongs – and they are _not _suggestive," he whispered into my ear, biting my earlobe. "I like unpacking my women." I gasped as I felt his hands on my bare skin – and then I kicked off the panties. I reached inside his tights, letting them glide down his hips and his arousal sprang free.

I gasped again as it did. _Blimey this bloke was big!_ No wonder he had felt so impressive through his trousers. Looking cheekily at me, he removed his tights entirely along with his socks; _oh, good – I hate blokes who keep their socks on ....!_

Recognizing my reaction, he looked at me with a small smile and pushed me onto the bed, his mouth on mine. Our tongues met and fought a battle – _oh, heaven _ - and his hands slid down my body, coming to rest on my hip. I pressed against him. I could feel that I was already wet and as aroused as I had ever been. _I have only known – known? - this man for a few hours; I did not know him! _But I did not care, and if I had ever thought of caring, I did not anymore as I felt his fingers reach my very sensitive nub and rub it gently.

His mouth moved to my neck, sucking and nibbling. I caressed his arms and back all the way down to his very muscular buttocks, grabbing them slightly. _Oh, wow. _He groaned against my neck – _he liked that, good so do I - _and moved his mouth to my breasts, nibbling and sucking the nipples – first one then the other.

I whimpered, breathing his name and I felt his smile – he let his mouth glide down my stomach to my inner thighs and then I felt his tongue on me. Nobody had ever done that on a first date! _Blimey, this bloke knew his way around a woman's body._ I whimpered as pleasure ran through my body – and then I groaned loudly as I felt his fingers slide into me.

"What is it?" He ceased for a while, looking up at me. He grinned devillishly. "Oh, you like it – I can tell that you do ...." and then he continued. _Holy Mother of ..., this cool Brit was really out on a limp now._ I squirmed and whimpered as I felt the release coming on, rolling through my body and I cried out. _Probably waking up the neighbours _ - ran through my fevered brain – or what was left of it.

Kirill eased down beside me, his leg sliding between mine and his hands caressing me slowly and deliberately. I tried to breathe evenly and to focus "You certainly know how to make a girl feel good." I sighed. He chuckled and kissed me – he tasted of me – and said softly "Yes, I do – but I have never been with a woman, whom I liked pleasuring more." His eyes – _oh, his eyes_ – were soft, as he looked at me.

I reached down to take his erect member in my hand, caressing it softly. He moaned and lay down in the pillows. I took it in my mouth and felt him shiver. He let out a small grunt – "Oh, yes - woman – yes." I grinned, letting my tongue slide in the small slit, tasting the drop that had appeared. "Uhm, this is good." I said wickedly, letting my mouth encircle him again, taking as much of him as I could in my mouth. He groaned loudly, saying something very rude in Russian. _What a thing to say. _I did not let on that I had understood what he said; ordinary office clerks do not speak Russian.

He was close, I could tell, and suddenly he lifted me up against him, rolled me over and slid into me. I was more than ready. "I want you" he said huskily and I could not agree more; I wanted him too. He filled me, more than anyone had ever done. We moved as one; as if it was meant to be – and after a few thrusts my orgasm was coming on; I could tell that so was his and as we cried out in unison, he emptied himself in me and collapsed on top of me.

He came to rest, his face buried against my neck and I stroked his hair, as our breathing returned to normal. He slid out of me and rolled onto his side. He dragged me so close that our foreheads touched. Letting his hand slide down my body, he said – his voice husky and soft; his accent more evident than before. "You are everything I thought you to be – and more."

I smiled back "So are you." His breathing became slow and even and he slept. _He must feel safe with me._ I thought. _If he only knew._ I snuggled against his shoulder, my arms around him and soon fell asleep.

He stayed with me all night, waking me early in the morning before first light and made love to me again, this time slowly and deliberately, but not less passionate, caressing every part of my body. He fell asleep again, with his arm thrown possessively over me.

I slept another hour and then had to get up; I had to go to work. I slipped out of bed; he was still sleeping. He looked very peaceful and very young; it was difficult to understand that he was an experienced agent, a killer. I was no stranger to that world – but still, when I looked at him; his dark lashes against his cheeks and the small smile on his lips, I wondered. _What is it about this man; who is he – really?_

After I showered, I made breakfast and woke him. He tried to pull me down to him, but I fought him off. "No, Kirill – please; I want to, but I can't, I have to go to work." He nodded "I understand – but I will see you tonight?" "Of course – just try to prevent me." I said.

I smiled at him, strangely enough I felt that he was already part of my life. Something tugged in my stomach, though. _What if he knew what I really was? And that I knew exactly what he was?_ I shrugged off the feeling as we sat down to have breakfast, talking about everything and nothing.

He drove me to work, parking a couple of streets from the embassy – on my request. I did not want anybody from the office to see him – and become suspicious. He kissed me softly goodbye before he let me get out of the car. "See you tonight" he whispered against my lips as he kissed me – and those three words were enough to send shivers down my spine.

I stood on the pavement watching him drive off. I let out a breath of air; I was falling for him – that much was sure. But I knew nothing of the man - _So he is a great shag, but what else? _ I think that I would need the distance, a day at the office would offer me.

As I entered the office, the girls fell over me asking what I had been doing – as I did not look as somebody who had gone straight home to bed. "Oh, but I did." I said "Yes, but not alone obviously," Camilla said; she was the one I knew best; we had been working together for two years (although only in my official capacity). "I saw you leave with a tall, dark stranger – although I did not get a proper look at him. Who was he?" I just smiled. "I don't know – just a bloke." She looked inquisitively at me, but as I proffered nothing, she abstained from further interrogation. _Good, I thought – that's my area of expertise._

When I got to my office, my boss looked in. "Good morning, Anne – do you have a minute?" I nodded and followed him to his office. "Sit down" – and he handed me a case file. My heart flipped – and I felt a jolt to my stomach. _Kirill's file_. _Oh, seven little devils were laughing at me now._

"Have you seen this man before." Major Kennard asked. "No, not in person, but I did see the file some months ago – when we had the incident with the American – Jason Bourne. This is the Russian agent – turned rogue, who chased him, isn't it?" I tried to keep my voice steady.

"Absolutely right.. He has been sighted in Berlin."

"In Berlin? I thought that he was killed in a car crash in Moscow late last year?"

"Obviously not, as he has been sighted here. I want you to keep your eyes open. I hear that you and the girls from the consulate go clubbing every once in a while? We have learned that he frequents certain night clubs here in Berlin from time to time." Major Kennard looked inquisitively at me.

"Which clubs are we talking about? The major told me the names – among them "Blue Hell".

"Oh, yes we have been there – in fact only last night we actually went to the Blue Hell, but I did not see anything suspicious ...." I stopped myself _Don't go there. _"We do not go often, but in future I shall, of course, keep my eyes and ears open when we do. _Oh, right. _

"The file says that he is quite dangerous?" I asked – _as well you know; very dangerous .... _My voice shivered – hopefully he did not notice – and my stomach did somersaults. _What if Kirill found out what I was really doing for a living? And my boss that I had already met him?_

My head spun; I really had to think this through so I left a couple of hours early, faking a headache, and went home. When I parked my car, I noticed the black Audi a couple of spaces away. _Sod it, he was already here._ I drew a deep breath and entered the building. I took the lift to the sixth floor. My door was unlocked – not a good sign; I did not remember giving him a key.

When I entered my living room, Kirill stood by the window, arms crossed, his stance very thoughtful. "Did you pick the lock or pinch my keys?" I asked, keeping my voice light. He turned towards me, his eyes dark with anger. _So he knew._

When he spoke, his voice was dark and emotional. I could tell from his accent, which was heavier than ever.

"You weren't joking, were you? You said that all employees of embassies are spies – that is not so - but you really are, aren't you."

I took a deep breath: "No, I wasn't joking – but what about you? You did not exactly square with me either, did you? And how did you find out about me?" His eyes blazed at me, the hurt in them very evident.

"Yeah, I, too, am a spy. I do have connections that's how I found out – but I have enemies, too. Were you trailing me last night? Were you on assignment to fuck me and hand in information about me? His voice was hoarse and ragged.

"No, I was _not_ supposed to shag you – I was not supposed to do anything. As far as everybody was concerned, you died last year in a car crash in Moscow. And I did _not_ report in about our – meeting!" Tears welled in my eyes – also from anger. "I just happened to go to a club last night and there I met a man, who I was attracted to!" _And who was attracted to me!_

Kirill closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as if at an unpleasant memory. "Not everybody – some people knew differently; but the fact is that now we are both hunted prey."

"The men you saw me with last night are weapon dealers from Uzbekistan – the worst sort – with lots of money and no conscience. The Russian Secret Service has been wanting them for years. They have connections, too, you know - everywhere. They now know that you are with the British MI5 – and they think that I set them up" He paused, and I waited for him to continue.

"Well, as it happens I did set them up, sort of – I was out to get them on assignment, have been for months. Now they believe that we were supposed to hook up; that I handed over information to you, that the Brits and I are working together. Somebody on my side must have squealed, too. So – now they want us both killed."

"It was a set-up, but ..... I thought ...." I stammered. Kirill looked at me "You thought what ... ? As everybody else did that I am an agent, turned rogue to become a paid assassin? Yeah, that was the general idea – and that was my cover story. I suppose that this is a blown cover now – and so is yours. We are fair game, darling."

"Oh, isn't that just super!" I hissed. "Oh, bloody hell! I should have listened to my head in stead of another part of my anatomy, when I met you!" I cursed loudly and Kirill laughed.

"As should I – but I enjoyed it too much, so I preferred not to think."

"Are you angry with me?"

"Not angry – I am absolutely pissed off at you; you tricked me."

"I most certainly did not, remember? I just did not tell you the truth." I said, indignantly.

Kirill shook his head and seemed to relax a bit. "OK, I admit that it is a matter of interpretation, Anne. It is really true then – the British are really cool. Are you not just a little bit afraid – of me or the others? They have got connections in both services, you know."

"Of course I am afraid – not of you, though; I realise that my arse is also on the line, but I will deal with that when I have to. Right now I am more concerned about you – and about how you feel about me." I reached out my hand and touched his cheek.

Kirill took my hand and kissed the palm. His eyes softened and he smiled "I am attracted to you – and I am falling in love with you, I think. I know that it has only been a short time, but it is so – and that's what frightens me most." Then he leaned over and kissed me, his lips gliding softly against mine.

I felt a shiver down my spine. "I'm falling in love with you, too. I must be out of my friggin' mind" I whispered against his lips. _And I was – falling in love, I mean_. He chuckled softly, and looked at me – _with that look, oh no – not that devilish look_.

He started to pull at my clothes and I at his. Soon we fell to the floor. "Why the floor" I breathed "Because it will take too long to reach the bedroom," he moaned. I needed him – and I told him so. I was not in doubt that was what he felt, too.

He tore off my panties – I was wearing the office uniforma smart skirt and jacket - _easy access, very practical _flew through my head – and I almost tore down his trousers. I was ready as he was. He entered me smoothly and thrust violently into me. Soon we were both panting and crying out – and our release came quickly and simultaneously.

Afterwards we laid entertwined, whispering sweet nonsense – at one point he whispered something very indecent in Russian, and from my grin he could tell that I understood. "A true spy, who knows Russian," he grinned. I hugged him in response and I think that at that point we both realised that we had proceeded far beyond the limits we had both set for ourselves before all this.

Finally we rose; floor boards are not that comfortable – went to the bathroom to clean up and adjust our clothes. I changed into jeans and a shirt. Back in the living room I poured us a drink – beer for Kirill, red wine for me. We sat on the settee for a while, just enjoying each other's company. I leaned against him, as he held me close.

Kirill stroked my hair "Did I tell you that I really like your short hair – I have never before; I always thought that I preferred girls with long hair."

"Most blokes do – but I don't; and it's my soddin' hair." He grinned loudly. "Easy now - I'm not going to change you – or even want you to, sweetheart."

I looked at him; he had obviously not shaved since yesterday "And I should tell you that I do like men with a two or three-day stubble, but I'm not into beards. Just thought you should know." He grinned even more.

Then he sighed. "However pleasant this is, we need to make plans; they will be coming for us – and although both our services are on to them, we will have to be able to protect ourselves." I nodded.

The phone rang. I felt a jolt and I looked at Kirill. "Pick it up" he said, and went to the window to look down in the street below. I picked up the receiver; I could tell from the display that it was the major. "I need to talk to you, Anne – and the man, who is with you. Can you meet me?"

"Yes, of course, Sir, but do you think that we should discuss it over the phone; it may be bugged." "It's not; I checked it." I heard Kirill's voice say behind me. _OK – so he is more pro than I._

"All right, Sir. When and where?" "Half an hour at the café Obst." "I know it." And I hung up.

Somehow I got the feeling that Kirill had known who called. _Did he have any connections with my boss?_ I asked him, feeling the anger rising in me. _Most certainly they had both withheld things from me._

. He looked solemnly at me "Yes, your major Kennard has been one of my connections for a long time – even before the Jason Bourne-affair; he is about the only one in the service, who knows about me."

"And so you told him that you had – that we had ...." I was really angry now and my voice shook.

"I told him that I had met you, yes – and that I, well, we felt – shall we say - sympathy for each other, and ... and that's all. He was not pleased, but on the other hand ..." He shrugged.

"I should kill you, you big Russian bastard!" My temper flared.

He grinned "Oh, so you are a little shrew after all, tame you I should .... but as for killing me? I think somebody else will do you that favour, if we don't get back on track."

I nodded, realising that he was right. "The major told me to meet him at the café Obst, you know it?" He nodded.

"We'll take my car – less conspicious than yours, darling – and it's just as fast." I said.

He grinned roguishly at me "So you are not angry with me anymore? OK, but I'll drive; I have a feeling that it is better this way – if we are followed."

I went into the bedroom, opened my weapon cupboard and took out my handgun. I put in a magasine and put two extra in my jacket pocket. Then I placed the gun in the waistband of my jeans under the jacket. Kirill looked at me. "You seem to know what you are doing, Anne. I'm impressed." I stuck out my tongue at him.

"Oh, keep it in, you. You are probably much better at this, but I do have some training, Mr Super Spy – as well you should know, if you've seen my file."

He grinned. "Yeah, I have. Anne - you should pack a few necessities and your favourite belongings, I did. You never know when you'll be back – if ever." I nodded. _He is right._

Kirill took my hand and squeezed it. "Are you ready, love?" I looked at him "As ready as I will ever be." We left the flat.

When we reached my car, Kirill collected his bag in his car and threw it in with mine. _Arrogant and uncaring that they were probably watching us. _Why did I feel that this was so ominous, just like we were moving in together? I threw him the car keys and we got into the car, Kirill behind the wheel. As we pulled out from the parking lot, I sighted a big grey Mercedes pull out behind us.

"They're here." I remarked. Kirill looked into the rear mirror. "So I've noticed." he quipped. "Call your boss and tell him, he'll know what to do."

Major Kennard was adamant that we met – and of course, he had his plans. "I have instructions and other things that I want to give you. We'll set up a parametre and have some protection in the area." I told Kirill. He shrugged "It should be all right then. _Who said that Brits were cool?_

As we drove to the centre of Berlin, I saw Kirill watch the pursuers in the mirror. His face was calm, but his gaze dark. I thought for a while, decided that I wanted to know and then asked him "Is Kirill your real name?" _Could be my only chance._

He looked ahead, pausing a bit before replying as if understanding why I had asked "Yes, it is. Everybody thinks that it is an alias, but it's not. I am Kirill Alexander Petrov – quite ordinary, isn't it?" I laughed "Perhaps, darling – but you are not!"

He cast me a quick look – "And you – is Anne really your name?" "Yes, well it is actually _Penelope_ Anne Walsingham." _"Penelope?"_ he grinned. "Yes, and don't you ever repeat that to anyone!" He put his right hand on my knee and squeezed it. "I don't care what you are called," he said, a half-smile on his face. I smiled. _Likewise._

We stopped outside the café; Kirill got out and surveyed the area, looking up and down the street. I noticed that he wore a shoulder holster under his jacket. He must have put in on when I was in the bathroom – _he certainly did not have that on when he shagged me on the floor_, I thought. His jeans were flared above the right knee – and he wore track shoes, just like me. _That's good, we may have to do some running._

"They have the entire cavalry here, but the Indians may be about, too." Kirill said. The grey Mercedes had pulled in behind us, but nobody got out. "They will bide their time." I said. Kirill nodded.

We went into the café. Major Kennards was sitting at a table, reading a newspaper. I nodded to him. We went up to him. He looked up "They are on to you. I assume that you know." We nodded. He handed me a thick envelope. "You will find everything you need in here."

The major looked at me "I am sorry that I did not tell you the real reason why I showed you Kirill's file. He had told me that the two of you had met at the club and that .... well, this was sort of a shock treatment, and a bad attempt at getting you to talk."

He studied our faces "I presume that you have settled matters, and worked out any differences?"

We looked in each other's eyes; a long second later Kirill answered, also on my behalf "Yes, Kennard, we have."

He was about to say something more, but Major Kennards cut him off. "Go now, take Anne's car, drive north to Rostock. Take the ferry to Denmark – and disappear. And yes – we have agreed on the procedure with the Russians."

Kirill looked at him, smilingly. "I'm used to disappearing by now, only this time it will perhaps be less dramatic", he said – a sarcastic note to his voice. We shook the major's hand, and I whispered "Thank you."

"Good luck" the major said. We nodded in reply; Kirill's hand was on my elbow, leading me towards the door and we left the café, heading for the car.

As we walked over to the car, two very seriously looking men in black coats with guns tried to block our path. Kirill felled one with a blow directly to the jaw and I elbowed the other in the guts as he tried to grab me. Three others emerged from the Mercedes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw some of my British colleagues approaching. "Get out of here" one of them shouted.

Kirill grabbed my arm, pulling out his gun and fired at the attackers. Several agents – presumably both British and Russian - appeared, and all hell seemed to break loose. "Our chance" Kirill yelled at me. I jumped in behind the wheel and Kirill jumped in beside me.

"Drive, Anne" he shouted and I pulled out, almost hitting a man, who stepped out in front of the car. I evaded. Kirill opened the window and fired some shots after a couple of men, who pursued the car on foot, but as I speeded up, they were soon left behind. We turned the corner and headed towards the highway leading out of Berlin

I had thrown the envelope onto the floor as I dived into the car. Kirill reached over and took it. He opened it. Out fell passports, airline and train tickets, credit cards – and a thick wad of notes. Kirill read the instructions as I drove us north out of Berlin.

"So we are really to disappear from the face of the Earth. The ferry to Denmark – they have notified the Danish intelligence service, it seems – go to the airport in Copenhagen and then fly to Goa. Oh, well – I've been there before. They don't ask many questions there – and from there it is up to us."

I cast him a quick glance. "Then we'll discuss it then – Kirill Alexander Petrov."

He grinned, slanting me a sideways look; and squeezed my leg. "Don't worry, Penelope Anne – like all good Russian agents I have an extensive account in a Swiss bank."

"Who is worried, certainly not I." I laughed. "British agents have savings, too, you know." Now he really laughed.

We got across to Denmark with our new passports – we were now David and Joanna Wharton – and from Australia; a couple of backpackers travelling the world. We looked the part – except for the guns, which we disposed of during the crossing - and we were provided with all proper visa and travel documents. We had left the car at the dock and walked on board the ferry. We took the train to Kastrup Airport, and there we boarded a plane for Goa. Nobody gave us any trouble at all.

Sitting on the plane waiting for take-off, Kirill took my hand. "You do realise that you are stuck with me now. We know too much about each other ever to be able to separate – for fear that the other will tell. We are not off the hook – we'll have to watch each other's backs." _All the time, my dear, if you want it _ I thought.

His voice was husky and his Russian accent very evident as I had noticed that it was when he was excited or emotional. I pressed his hand against my cheek. "I will just have to make do with you then, don't I." He kissed me, much to the delight of the other passengers – a couple of catcalls emerged from the younger passengers – but what the heck, we played the part of a newly wed couple. _That was easy._

I looked into his eyes – his hazel eyes, the green flecks dancing with mirth. "I think that we'll get by all right." _Blimey, I had known the man for less than three days and it felt like a lifetime._

We arrived at Goa and checked into a hotel. Nothing too fab; we kept up the appearance of our new identities – a young, newly married couple without too many means, travelling the world. _Except for a couple of million dollars in a Swiss bank – and my small savings in Lichtenstein._ Oh, we would do all right, indeed.

We made love that night – exhaustingly hot sex, which left us both satiated and breathless. At least in that respect, we fit perfectly. I liked his sense of humour, he turned me on like nobody else, he could tolerate my sarcastic remarks – he laughed at me, with me and to me. And I could tell that he enjoyed my body ... The rest would have to come as we went along – we had to find a way.

Later, we sat on the balcony overlooking the beach. Kirill had drawn me onto his lap and rested his forehead against my shoulder. "You see the bar down there? He asked. "That's where I found Jason Bourne – or whatever the hell his name is. His girlfriend owned it – Jason saw me and gathered that I had been sent to kill him. I chased them – and I killed her. It was my job – but I am not proud of it."

He looked out into the night, his eyes focused on the sea. "Especially not when I found out why they wanted him killed – to cover their mistakes. Jason was – is – a worthy opponent. As efficient and as deadly as me." _Oddly enough that did not seem arrogant at all._

"He could have finished me off, you know. There in the tunnel in Moscow. He was pointing a gun at me, and he _knew_ that I was alive – and he didn't." His voice trailed off.

I lifted his face towards me. "That is in the past now. I have also done things that I am not proud of. We tend to do that in our line – our former line of business." I kissed him softly and he chuckled. "I am sure that you are right, my love" and then he rose and took me with him to bed. Making love soothes most aches, I found out. We fell asleep, spooned against each other, with his arms tightly around me.

We stayed in Goa for a month. Nobody came to get us – not a trace of anything hostile - and then we moved on. We live on the far side of the world now – I will not tell you where, but we have managed to set up a life for ourselves, which is quite different from the lives, we used to lead. Nothing exciting, but who needs excitement; I can assure you that living with Kirill is all the excitement I'll ever need – apparently he feels the same way. I can tell every time we make love.

He is still the same arrogant, self-assured bastard – good at what ever he does; the past few years have done nothing to change that fact, but – on the other hand I am still a shrew; he has not really been able to tame me. To be honest I think that neither of us would really want to change the other – otherwise I am certain that we would have made an effort!

We have horses and boats and rent them out by the hour or more – and two children, who are a strange mixture of us both – and adventurous to a fault both of them. We have a house overlooking the ocean – and that is really it – our life. Somehow I got really lucky that night I met Kirill Alexander Petrov; I am glad that he did not die in Moscow, because then I would never have met him – and would never have found out what is with men like him.


End file.
